


"Do you think you could just go one day without pissing me off?"

by thenorthernwastrel



Category: Fable (Video Games), Fable 3 (Video Game)
Genre: Drunkenness, Gen, Implied/Referenced Sex, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23306131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenorthernwastrel/pseuds/thenorthernwastrel
Summary: Reaver puts Barry in his place in a very Reaver-like manner.
Relationships: Barry Hatch & Reaver (Fable)
Kudos: 2





	"Do you think you could just go one day without pissing me off?"

"Do you think you could just go one day without pissing me off?"

“Well I mean I _could_ but, where’s be the fun in that? You always say I’m such _fun_ ,” Barry says, slurring his words in a most unfortunate way paired with his normal impediment. He smiles up at his master, teetering over to him to wipe at the small drop of wine he had spilled on his otherwise impeccably white coat. His hands fumble, barely even able to grip the piece of cloth let alone find the coordination to even touch the stain.

“I absolutely have _not_ said that, you damned impudent!” Reaver snatches Barry’s handkerchief and tosses it over his shoulder. “I _have_ told you to stop drinking at _my_ parties— they are not for my servants, they are for my _guests_ ,” he picks up his cane and jabs the butler in the shoulder, almost sending him tumbling backward, “—and you are _not my guest_.”  


But Barry’s smile is unwavering, his mind likely not comprehending the dire situation he was getting himself into with it. “Well all’s I’m doing is havin’ a little fun sir, most of the others are asleep by now—”

“My _guests_ are very much awake in my room, _Hatch_ ,” another jab, much harder this time, “and if you make another mistake I can assure you _it will be your last_. Do you understand, oaf?” Reaver places the tip of his cane directly in the middle of the man’s chest and pushes, finally sending him toppling down like an idiot into the ornate side table.  


“Heh,” Barry laughs, trying to push off the weight of his employer’s words. He tries and fails to get up, room spinning too much under the new force of gravity, table legs proving useless if one couldn’t figure out how to grab them. “Ye-yes I un’stand sir, no more drinks, same as last time.” He began to hiccup between his words.   


Reaver took off his coat and tossed it over a chair; it was useless now, and he would buy another even _more_ beautiful than it had been, but even his most soiled fabrics were above being touched by a middle class drunkard. “ _Yes_ , but unlike last time, well,” the tall man again lifted the tip of his cane, this time pressing it firmly against the front of Barry’s skull, very delicately threatening to push it right through to the groundif the slave so much as _breathed_ the wrong way. “This will be _the_ last time, or _you_ will be the stain needing cleaning up.” He pushes a bit then, leaving an agreeable little mark that would surely be there for days, and taps Barry once on the nose as though wiping filth off on it.

He walks off pleased, smirking, hips swaying and cane tapping the tile every few steps. He was going to have to do _something_ about his help– his whole staff really was getting a bit too.. _seasoned_ under his hire. He was due for another set— but he’d get to that later. Right then he had party to finish up, and he would be damned if he was going to let a little stain ruin his night, when there were sure to be so many others being made right then in his room, only a few halls away.

Barry lied there on the ground, briefly considering if he should turn to his side to avoid choking on his own vomit should he fall asleep, but ultimately seeing no point. With his master’s latest commands he likely had merely a week until he was finally offed; whether it was done here on the floor or later under a gun, it made no difference, at least not to the mind of a man who saw death so often he could no longer imagine _life_ without it– 

—couldn’t imagine life without _him_. He lived by the man and was going to be sure he died by him too, he resolved. 

He’d swallow the vomit.


End file.
